


Freak

by countofmischief



Category: Loki (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics)
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M, Other, Poor Loki (Marvel), Smut, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-14 17:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countofmischief/pseuds/countofmischief
Summary: Mephisto has captured Loki in his realm and wishes to rekindle their relationship, but not in the most pleasant way.Mephisto x LokiWIPMephisto POV(no beta)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not specific to a phase in the comics, but would have to be post Journey into Mystery  
Some vague references to their previous encounters in the comics, Siege and prior.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mephisto POV

It is one thing to savor the fall of a common mortal, persuaded so easily by mere whims granting short-lived pleasures, miracles, what have you. I always value those moments. However, to witness a _ god _ devour itself, over the course of centuries, only to be reborn and fall within the vicious cycle once more; _ that _ is a pleasure I am privy to.

Of course, I did assist in the matter. How could I not? The opportunity was at hand and time is not of the essence, so -dragging it out- would set the proper pace to marvel at this tragedy.

I raise the rim of a wine glass to my lips, reminiscing, though it is not wine that I drink, but something much more exquisite. The simple concoction is derived from the blood and tears of hapless souls dwelling at the depths of my domain, ripened by malice and fermented by their sorrows. Repulsive and bitter to those who dare try it and precisely to my tastes.

With a deep sigh, I deposit the empty glass into the hands of a scant demon standing idly at one side of my throne. Here I linger, at the helm of what is known as _Hell_, strewn by the skeletal remains of fallen foes, and the vantage point of where I oversee this tenebrous realm.

The anguished cries of the damned are a melody to my ears, echoing through the caverns and spaces of this labyrinth. A hated world where demons roam and wander in search of pleasures only the screams of their quarry can provide.

I am no different in that respect. Slouching back with a leg perched on my seat, I observe the precarious state of my former colleague at a distance.

He's naked, on his knees, over a rock platform, surrounded by a halo of fire, lit up like a centerpiece on display. Chains, glowing red, lead up from the ground, flanking him, bound to shackles on his wrists and ankles. The restraints afford him no latitude; his wrists are pulled down behind him, past his feet, forcing his spine to curve back to ease the strain on his shoulders, and though it appears uncomfortable and even painful, the posture suits him beautifully.

Pity he wouldn’t deign to visit on his own accord.

He doesn’t look at me. At least, not how he used to. I detect something stirring in me. Could it be nostalgia? But it never takes form. I am nearly devoid of these sentiments. And yet, I can’t prevent the sneer contorting into my face, delighting in this creature so few have appreciated the way I have. 

“My dearest Loki –“ I begin longingly, in a rich, smoky tone . “I am very pleased to have you back.” I lean forward, pushing against the arms of my throne, so that I may stand to acknowledge him.

His heads perks up in the direction of my voice, but the angle he's in is restricting, he's unable to see more than a shadow and a pair of glowing eyes.

He doesn't say a word. I expected more from him. At the very least, I expected contempt for having the audacity to trap him here, but it is only silence that greets me in return. How unlike him.

Considering his current circumstances, however, I suppose he would find it difficult to be forthright.

“What has happened to that cunning mouth of yours?” I ask him, descending the steps of my throne. “Getting caught up in your charade on _ Earth_?”

Seemingly disturbed by the sound of my steps coming closer, he turns his head partly to one side and finally sees the silhouette of my cloak pan into view, far too close for comfort.

He draws a breath as I approach, hesitating.

Undaunted, I step through the wall of flames encircling him, into the empty space between, where I am just an arm-length's away. The trepidation held by those lovely eyes betrays him, for he is not the most stoic of _gods_, and all the more, when they meet the sight of the fiery glare outlining my face. 

"I don't belong here." He states flatly, mustering all the strength he can. "I'm not one of your mortal thralls. I am of no use to you here."

So wonderfully shrewd. I stop in front of him and raise a finger to my chin. “You do make a point.” Tilting my head back as if in contemplation, I express feigned interest. “Yes, I can foresee many ways in which you could be useful to me elsewhere. _An agent of Hell_.” I suggest with all apparent seriousness, even if it's a farce in truth.__

Discreetly, I turn my gaze down just to take in the moment he believes he may have a chance. A chance at freedom, a future beyond the one destined to him by fate. A spark of hope in a storm of despair. How I love to see the way it fades...

“Even better..." I say, twisting long fingers around his jaw, grasping it a bit too tightly, beckoning his eyes to meet my own. "You could serve me right here, as you are.”

“Y-you can’t be serious?” He scoffs, keeping his eyes averted from mine. Accustomed to this reaction, I hunch over him, holding his jaw so firmly my nails scrape the surface of his youthful skin. Leaning closer, until he doesn’t have a choice, until the fire of my gaze reflects against his wide, verdant eyes, I respond with a fanged smile. “I am.”

The muscles in his jaw twitch underneath my fingers and I notice a sharp change in his breathing. A brief silence follows, then my eyes stray, thoughtfully. “But you’re right, I can’t keep you here forever, no-“ I trail off, slipping my hand away from his jaw and begin a steady pace around him. I follow the perimeter of the platform he's on, circling to the back of his kneeling form, outside the bounds of what he can see.

“Not yet.” I admit, slowing my strides when I'm behind him. “However, you seem to have mistaken favors for _generosity_. My disposition to invest my power, my aid, to your benefit, in spite of the risk and _your incompetence_, as _compassion_.” I come to a stop after reaching the opposite side, where I lower my face next to his, making him flinch as my lips ghost over his cheekbone.

I whisper roughly into his ear. “_I'm owed my share, am I not_?”

I hear the godling’s breath hitch in his throat. He’s finally realized the gravity of his situation, and as always, he resorts to the one thing he does best. 

“Mephisto…” He addresses me with a familiar cadence and a nervous smile. “You must surely know that I am not without faults, but I am making progress now. I have forged new alliances, ones that can be exploited for your interests, powerful ones. I may have even found something of greater value than the burdensome Dísir, which I can bring to you if that should make amends...”

The urgency in his voice increases as he keeps talking, but he doesn't seem to notice that I have no interest in what he says. I loom over him, tentatively watching the flawless movements of his lips.

"...As you are a most formidable Hell Lord, I would have no purpose to cross you. You have assisted in my various efforts, and indeed, I am in your debts, but I haven't the power to correct every shortcoming in my past, or rather recently, however I can make the appropriate reparations if you – nngh!” I slip a finger between his lips in mid-sentence, and I can still hear him trying to articulate words, believing they have leverage with me.

“Oh, Loki, do you honestly believe anything you say?” I laugh mockingly, forcing a second finger into his mouth, enjoying the way he gags and squirms. “Is there anything about you anyone should believe?”

My fingers work their way to the back of his throat and I graze my nails over the sensitive flesh there, scratching it, triggering him into a frenzy. He becomes undone, thrashing violently, heaving through strangled breathes and intensifying his scuffle against the chains imprisoning him.

“Nnnugh!” He muffles something unintelligible, squeezing his eyes shut as tears begin forming, threatening to fall from under his eyelashes.

I can feel my chest vibrate in yearning for these cherished amusements, borne from the slightest touch.

“Is there anything about you that is _not_ a lie?” I ask, aware he cannot answer, but he's listening.

Teeth clamp down hard and suddenly over my fingers, a final measure to alleviate his torment. Had it been just about anyone else, he may have severed them, but here, with me - big mistake. His lips and mouth start to burn, searing hot, as if on fire, and just as quickly, he realizes his error. 

A garbled, pathetic cry struggles out of him, scalding tears run down his face and his neck is bent back as far as it can go. The heat scorches him; his lips, his tongue, the soft, wet flesh inside his mouth, down to his esophagus, forcing his jaw open to let a billow of smoke escape from his throat and nostrils.

“Ah, better.” I say, pushing down on his burnt tongue with my fingernails, taking glee in how the muscles in his body tremble with pain, the way his skin flushes hot, glistening with sweat. I'm even treated to see his lips beginning to swell. Hellfire can be terribly excruciating, and to a greater degree, given his origin. He calms only as the pain starts to subside.

“You see, Loki, you are not just a _god_ of lies, you are the living embodiment of a _ lie_.” I continue, keeping my fingers wedged in his mouth. “From your Aesir skin, your so-called Asgardian brethren, your allegiances, every form you hide behind, every deed you make, to the very thought that you can be anything, but a lie.” Then I slide my saliva-coated fingers from his mouth, eliciting a hoarse gasp, his throat no longer obstructed. A puff of ash is wheezed out his lungs, pursued by a long-winded fit of coughing and hacking, scattering specks of blood over his lips and mouth. I fall silent, waiting patiently as he collects himself.

“You-You’re wrong.” His voice cracks at last, defiance in his reddened eyes. “I have-” There are fresh tears brimming as he speaks. “I have changed.” He says this quietly, not sounding very convinced himself.

I can’t help myself, I let my tongue taste those tears rolling down his cheek. He closes his eyes, appearing to have resigned to whatever fate I have in store for him.

“What a crime, to be misled into believing you could be more.” I say with presumed pity, gliding my lips over his.

Pulling away, I frame his face between my hands. “And to think I could be bribed without a proper agreement in order?” My thumbs caress his cheeks. “My dearest, I did it because no matter where you go or what you do, your ending will never change.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mephisto POV

Loki doesn't open his eyes. He can't stand to look at me since I've captured him in my realm. He's afraid, and rightly so, but as I cradle the back of his head in one hand, easing the burden on his neck, holding him with unexpected tenderness, his brows lift in confusion.

An act of affection, perhaps? Even without sincerity, it displays a stark contrast to the chains anchoring him, tearing against the sockets of his shoulders, offering no respite. The relentless force wears against his knees, bare against the jagged rock; and his arms strain, pulled behind him viciously, forcing his chest out.

An enticing view provoking my mind to think of a myriad of ways I could ravage him this instant.

Like a sacrifice at the altar, prepared to meet its' end, he's unable to do much else, but endure the scrutiny of my eyes, and any vagary of my imagination. 

Inspecting him with a hand hovering over his mouth, my nails gently skim across those delicate, blistered lips. Without doubt, very sensitive to the touch. I take hold of his jaw again and suddenly, my mouth collides with his.

He shrieks into my lips, shaking his head in protest.

The pain is evident by the sounds he makes, but I trap his lips in mine, subduing him, quieting him. I coil his raven locks tensely around my fingers, keeping him still, and find myself staring into his shocked eyes, the very depths of his cursed soul, wary of the hunger he perceives.

I tighten my grip and press into the joints of his mandible, commanding it to open for me. He complies, parting his lips, allowing my tongue to enter.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shudders the moment my serpentine tongue slithers next to his. Loki's sly silver-tongue, it thrills me, having sired some of the most extravagant, most calamitous lies ever told, so vast, not even the great Odin could prevent the ruin they unleashed on Asgard. 

I'm lured further by the flavor of blood, congealing along the burns inside his mouth. He trembles, breathing through flared nostrils with his mouth now occupied by my zealous tongue.

The taste I've acquired for this evasive soul has been fostered by our past engagements, developing into an intimate fondness, but is there something different now? I detect an anomaly in our deepening embrace, beyond the intrinsic woes and chaos of this enigma, more profoundly, a grain of hope has taken root.

How unfortunate, for him.

I let my hand drift beneath his jawline, fingers wrapping around his neck, constricting them with enough pressure that his throat narrows and blood struggles to pass.

My tongue lingers in him, spiraling around his, and I sense his pulse racing in my hand, his breaths laboring, the natural protrusion above his larynx shifting when he swallows nervously, bracing for what may come next. 

I suppose I could kill him and I wonder if he thinks I will. I let him dwell on it a little longer with our tongues intertwined before easing my hold slightly, then withdraw from his mouth, sweeping my tongue over his lips as it retreats.

“Your neck fits perfectly within my hand.” I observe, leaning back, lightly squeezing it. “I wonder how it would sound if I were to break it.”

He makes no retort, dragging in a long, nervous breath through his mouth.

Familiar with me as he is, he does his best to withhold any sound or reaction that may rouse me. Yet, all the effort he puts into denying me what I hunt for will be for naught, as he will soon understand.

I unfurl my hand from his neck and carry it across his bare chest, encountering a perked nipple. I catch the small, rosy bud between my fingers, and twist it roughly.

He gasps, a crease forming between his brows. I let it go and press a fingernail into it instead, his body stiffens in response.

“Vile parasite.” He says through clenched teeth, keeping his eyes closed.

I answer by pressing harder, and he stifles a whimper. A drop of fresh blood emerges from the puncture wound I leave behind and I ease myself down to it, lapping the fluid with my tongue.

Eager lips close around the sore bud, nibbling at it with razor-like teeth, desperate to taste more before the wound seals. He groans and shuffles, agitated within his constraints.

“You’re intoxicating.” I tell him in a huskier than usual voice. “I’d consume you like the finest drink in the realms.”

He snorts dismissively, hoping I won’t notice the darkening shade of his cheeks or the unwanted arousal forming below his waist.

Continuing on the same path, one hand descends below his diaphragm and the other settles on his lower back. Sharp nails rake along the ridges of lean muscle on his abdomen, down to his navel, marking the alabaster skin with long, red lines, leading to where he knew they would eventually come.

Shivers run through his spine. The quivering of his muscles jostles the chains, and he begins to fidget, testing the bonds’ strength in vain. 

My fingers run through a soft patch of pubic hair, arriving at the base of his cock. I canvass it with my eyes, proportioned elegantly to his stature and keen for attention, his cock begs to be touched. When he attempts to jerk his hips away, I make no hesitation to capture it.

“There is no need for this!" His eyes flip open, panic edging in his voice. "I'll do whatever it is you want."

With his cock in hand, I bring myself close to his face, growling. “I shall determine whose _needs_ are to be met.” 

The scent of his terror is tantalizing, too afraid to meet my gaze and too proud not to; the alluring eyes fret back and forth, uncertain. What he does know is that I’m capable of anything, and what he fears is not knowing what I'll do.

My eyes glow brighter and a row of sharp teeth divide my lips. "For your information, my precious godling, you are already performing quite nicely." 

To my content, he's nearly erect, suggesting the stimulation has excited him. My hand constricts and a harsh gasp follows after. He attempts to sit back further, but the chains hold him at my mercy.

I begin slow, taking my time, stroking his cock with a predictable rhythm and then, abruptly change the pace into short, erratic movements. The friction drives him mad, he grates his teeth and cries out in desperation. Overwhelmed, he tries wriggling himself out of my hand, but I fasten my hold, closing it tightly, threatening to do worse. 

He stops fighting, knowing he'll be made to endure more of the same and I don't disappoint. His cock is stroked without reprieve, sometimes steady and at other times in short bursts. He slumbers into his chains, drool dribbling down his chin from where his mouth hangs open, grunting at the pace his cock is stroked.

After a while, my grip finally relaxes and my fingers unwind, ushering a soft sigh from his lips.

But his relief is short lived, I begin pulling on the foreskin along his shaft, flicking my nails up and down his tender cock, observing how his face contorts from pleasure to pain. Then, my attention changes to his ball sac, where I tuck it between my fingertips and bounce it in the palm of my hand, making him aware of how easily I could crush it. He chokes back a cry when he feels his sac tugged, just as my hand returns to close around cock.

It's throbbing, firm with mounting tension, desperately craving for release. My thumb begins rubbing the tip of his cock, slick with precum, in circular motions. As my nail slides along the tiny slit in the middle, he snarls, hissing through his teeth.

“Don’t.” He says, looking at me cautiously under heavy eyelids. 

It only compels me.

"What was that, my dear?" I mock him, grinning widely "Don't- _Stop?_"

The sharp end of my thumbnail dips into the tiny hole of his cock, and his whole body spasms. I'm captivated by the look of horror on his face, he's almost sobbing, afraid I might start slicing into him, but he’s putting up a front, maintaining what dignity he believes to possess. Supposing he had any to begin with. I chuckle to myself at the thought, which unsettles him further.

"Calm yourself." I tell him in the least threatening capacity I'm able to muster. "I'm not about to eat you alive." ..._Not yet, anyway._

He says nothing, apart from seeming less anxious. 

I lift away my thumb, giving his cock another hard squeeze just before a sweet moan slips past his lips. He turns hot with shame, facing to one side, hopeful I didn't hear it. 

Then, the sensation of nails scraping down his back stirs him, he shivers as it sails over the shapely curvature of his ass where I proceed to pinch and poke him several times, enjoying the hushed shrieks he makes, littering his pale flesh with angry red marks.

With no forewarning or preparation, I sneak a digit at the cleft between the two muscles, and slide it down until it prods against his puckered hole.

He sucks in a breath, eyes wide with alarm. “No, you can't...”

I laugh. "Can I?" 

He jolts forward as my finger pushes in, breaching the reluctant ring of muscle. His teeth grind together and a pained groan radiates from his throat while I circle the digit inside his narrow chute. After loosening him up a bit, I bend my finger into the shape of a hook and drag it back out slowly with every nerve in him screaming, just to have it lunge back in and repeat the process.

“Enough!” He shouts, lips trembling. 

I angle my head to one side, looking at him, amused.

“I’ll end this, but only if you insist.” I entertain him the option, the idea that I'll spare him.

“Yes…” He whispers pleadingly. “Enough.”

"Is that so?” I clench my other hand and start pumping his cock in crude, vigorous strokes, his precum lubricating my movements. My finger, still digging inside him.

No longer able to suppress his need, he whines like an injured animal, the arch of his back becoming more pronounced, muscles tense, limbs rigid in their restraints, and mouth agape in a silent cry. 

He’s still holding back, believing he can stall with willpower alone. Well, willing or not, he’ll give me what I want.

“Mmnhff..” He fusses, hips bucking into my hand, the finger in him pushing relentlessly against his prostate. Every nerve-ending burning with treacherous lust.

I position myself next to him, lowering my mouth over his lap and swallow his cock whole. He screams, unable to stop the deluge that follows. I suck fervently, my tongue pressing hard against the length of his cock, drawing out his seed in agonizing spurts.

"Aaugh!"

He cries out with abandon, surrendering it to me, rutting mindlessly into my hungry mouth, no longer caring and I devour him greedily, until there is nothing left to give. 

...

There's stillness afterwards. Drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling quickly, gradually, he regains his senses.

“Repugnant –” He pants. “– sack of –nngh!“ A grunt silences him the instant my finger slides out of his hole.

“So ungrateful, and after all I’ve done for you.” I chide the little prince, flicking my tongue over my lips, and patting the top of his head in a patronizing gesture.

Pushing myself from the platform, I step back, admiring how unraveled the godling has become.

His eyes flutter open, gazing up through his matted hair at the fiery orbs he sees leering at him. 

“Is this all you crave?” He rasps, voice laced with venom, eyes narrowed. “Tormenting? Torturing? Does it never grow tiresome, being restricted to this ghastly place? Tethered like a beast to a stake?” His features harden. “Or do you even have the liberty to question that this game, what you play, is nothing more than an _imposition_?”

“There it is.” I announce, appearing unfazed by his ranting. “I wasn’t certain of it at first, but you remain intact. You must rely on that ire when I'm done with you." An ominous prescience lurks in my words.

By the puzzled expression, I can see he's attempting to make sense of what I said. Of course, I wouldn't care to complicate this any further by rambling on about how I came to be, nor would I care to mention the likes of The Living Tribunal or other obnoxious entities of the multiverse. That would spoil our time together.

“But first, l’ll address your question, and only because you have been a favored colleague of mine.” I step closer, leaning inches from his face. ”Playing games is not all I do.” My voice takes on a foreboding tone. “I _invented_ the game and I play my part as I see fit.” 

Without further regard, my hand lands back between his thighs, fingers snake down, past his shrunken cock and behind his sac, to discover a wet slit.

The sudden rattling of his chains fills my ears, he writhes rabidly, tugging with such force the skin around his shackles chafes and bruises. He shifts his hips to one side and the other, thrashing about madly, all this, just to keep me away.

With the other hand, I take a fistful of his hair and snap it back sharply, pulling hard. A reprisal to his little tantrum. He winces, the pain shooting through his neck, intolerable, and his resistance quickly ceases.

Letting go of his hair, I continue working the hand between his legs, gliding my fingers along the slickness of his female sex. 

“How very intriguing-” I cackle. “The wanton wretch of Asgard, forsaken by all, denying what is its' nature.” I laugh at the prospect. “So much for you to do, though, so much left for you to bring to ruin.”

He snivels, body going limp within his shackles, appearing vanquished by mere words. I lick the groove of his ear and he recoils with instinct, head turned away, as far as possible.

“Just imagine the monstrosities we could create.” I muse, nudging apart the folds of his cunt, his legs squeezing my hand, shaking unbearably. “We could set them loose upon the realms, watch them bring forth mayhem and destruction, is it not what you want?” 

I worm a couple fingers deep inside his opening, and a whimper is heard. The walls contract around my digits, clutching tightly and I begin to scissor them, stretching him wide, until a moan escapes him.

“It is, isn’t it?” I smirk, studying the disheveled godling with my gaze, churning my fingers in him, and pushing them as deep as they can go, to his dismay.

Slowly, I retrieve my fingers out of his cunt and bring them to my lips, tasting his essence on my tongue. Savoring it.

“I suppose I should let you return to your duties.” I deride him as I lick my fingers, standing back to my full height.

Drained of his energy and exhausted, his eyes open halfway, and he turns to look up at me wearily.

“Is this true or am I to be humiliated again?” He inquires, glumly. 

By now, I would think he would know.

I raise a hand above my shoulder where a translucent red orb manifests. “Let my actions speak, if my words have no value to you.” With a simple gesture the shackles around his wrists and ankles come undone, falling to the ground with a clatter, his limbs now freed.

His eyes follow the movement of the chains, as they retract, slithering along the ground like metallic serpents, back to their burrows where they disappear beneath the surface.

Soon after, the flames circling us begin to wither, fizzling away, leaving behind only a thick curtain of smoke.

I retreat a few steps, adjacent from where Loki is, obscuring myself in a shadow, behind the shrouds of smoke emanating where the fire had been. This should give him a comfortable distance to assess himself. From there, out of his immediate view, I watch silently, vigilant of my prize. 

He groans, testing the stiffened muscles in his arms and legs, numb after being subjected to the same position for what seemed like days. Then he props himself forward, seated on his legs, his breathing coming easier with the tension in his back now gone. 

Lightly touching his fingertips over his painfully, swollen mouth, he raises his head warily, a scowl becoming visible. His aching legs stretch out from under him as he repositions himself, swinging them over the ledge of the platform and bringing his feet to rest on the ground.

Examining himself further, he notes the bloody welts around his wrists and ankles where the shackles had been, the rest of his body, etched with red markings, but for the most part, completely unharmed. At least, by my standards.

He glances to either side, attempting to determine where I've gone. He turns his head, peering over his shoulder and spots the outline of my silhouette from the corner of his eye. Fear darts through his face, but then it turns to anger. He grumbles, aiming a few indignant glares in my direction, afraid that I may suddenly fall upon him again.

“I never considered you would go to such lengths.” He mutters somberly, eyes turned away, seated where he had been tied to so splendidly a moment ago. “Such pettiness. Even for you.” His arms extend over his head, loosening the tight muscles on his shoulders and he inhales deeply. 

“Are we done here?” He asks, in his brash manner. “Are you satisfied?” 

It's like the old chum is still in there, giving me his brazen looks, tempting me. Through the veil of this youth, I can still see him.

But this _is_ him, his incarnation, another wager for freedom. 

"Loki, Loki, Loki." A sinister smile begins crawling into my face. I appear before him again, arms folded over my chest and my head down to greet the concern in his eyes. "You should know me better."

The smile festers into a wide sneer, pulling my lips back, fangs bared, as I behold the startled prince within my blazing eyes, burning so hot, they turn blue.

"I've only begun."


End file.
